


A Game in the Dark

by ChainSmokesPens



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Flash Fic, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28802943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChainSmokesPens/pseuds/ChainSmokesPens
Summary: The Grand Night speaks. Onyx listens.





	A Game in the Dark

Screams.  
Guttural screams, gurgling audibly with amassing blood, echoed from beyond the door of the Grand Night’s courtroom. Once the screams had stopped, drowning into their own frothing drone, sounds of snapping followed. Bones breaking, flesh tearing, muscle and sinew and cartilage grinding; mastication.  
It went on for minutes, while Onyx stood frozen outside. He turned to his fellow disciples, all of them dressed in their ornate robes of ash, charcoal, and pitch, decorated with rubies, topaz, or amber, depending on the individual’s rank.  
There was a swallowing sound, like a large boulder falling into a lake, that gulped in the air around it, nearly drawing Onyx from his own body.  
Blood seeped from beneath the door, pouring thin streams between the brickwork of the floor that didn’t seem to end. It was one person. This was too much blood.  
Next was a sigh. Steady. Calm. Drawn out.  
“Come in, Onyx,” a voice reverberated from within.  
The disciple didn’t need to reach for the door. With a blink, he was within the room.  
He stood in the Grand Night’s court. Onyx looked to the only source of light in the room, the great stained-glass portrait behind the Grand Night’s throne. It depicted his lord conquering the twelve corners of the world, plaguing each by a violation of nature that was until then beyond their limited corporeal imaginations.  
The Grand Night coughed, like thunder clearing its throat, demanding the attention of his servant. Onyx bowed deeply, his knees, palms, and forehead connecting to the floor. He had to tilt his chin up to breathe; in spite of the sides of the room stretching into an infinite darkness, the amount of blood on the floor was no less than ankle-deep.  
“O, Great Night—” he choked, fearful, before starting again, hoping not to give his lord reason to decimate him. “O, Great Night, your servant Onyx comes before you, requesting of your infinite grace and forgiveness.” With someone else’s blood clinging to his robes and flesh, he’d dare not say otherwise.  
In his years of service, Onyx had learned not to think otherwise as well. A concept that haunted him immensely in the moments when he managed to close such dissonance. Such dissonance would return immediately, upon the recollection that the Grand Night could feel the trembling of a fearful heart with the intensity of an earthquake.  
“Rise,” the Grand Night demanded.  
Onyx obeyed.  
“Raise your arms,” in unison with his subject, the Grand Night raised one of his own, holding an object concealed by the darkness. “Without moving, catch this.”  
Unprepared as he may have been to catch the object, Onyx was always prepared to follow orders. So, when his lord threw the object, it was caught.  
It was a bundle of cloth, burgundy, tied closed by a thin yellow rope. It took no deep inspection to feel the contents of the bag writhing, wriggling uncomfortably in his grasp.  
The bundle let out two distinct sounds. The first, a symphony of festive squeaks. The second, nearly imperceptible, was the struggling hum of a gagged man.  
The Grand Night spoke up again. “Throw it back.”  
Without thought or question, Onyx did. Or tried, the amorphous shape of the bag not allowing it to sail through the air naturally.  
It paused mid-flight. And shot directly into the seven-fingered palm of the Grand Night. “How did the mission go?”  
After a moment of silence, Onyx choked up, “It failed.” Before he realized it, the bundle was back in his hands, still wriggling, still squeaking, still moaning for help.  
“Let’s try and recontextualize ‘failure’.” The Grand Night raised his hand again. Onyx threw the bundle with more success this time, though his master’s power still drew it in. “I can see that you take your work here seriously. Would you say that you’re frustrated?”  
Another throw, another catch.  
“No,” the disciple stammered, “I would never—“  
“Throw.”  
Another throw, another catch. “I’m not frustrated by our efforts. I’m frustrated by my failure to fulfill the mission. But if you’d spare—”  
Another throw, another catch. “Do you feel I put too much pressure on you?”  
Another throw, another catch. “It’s…my desire to serve that puts pressure on me.”  
Another throw, another catch. “The devotion you display in the field is exceptional, Onyx. Regardless of your failures, your fervor to accomplish the objectives I’ve set before you is commendable.” Another throw, another catch. “Don’t worry yourself about failures. With every obstacle I place in your path, whether through my own intent or simply the nature of the assignment, you are proving yourself to be increasingly worthy of greater responsibilities.” The Grand Night placed the bundle at his side. “And greater rewards”  
The weight lifted from Onyx’s shoulders and relieved tears streamed down his face. “Understood, sir.”  
The Grand Night stood, his leviathan stature obscuring the light from the glass, shinning violet through the more translucent parts of his mass. He spread his great arms, “Would you like to hug it out?”  
Onyx wiped his eyes and shook his head. “No, no I’m fine. Thank you, O Grand Night.”  
His lord returned to his throne. “Very well.” He looked past his subordinate and shouted to the door. “Next.”  
With another blink, Onyx was outside, his companions in line staring at him in shock, before relief washed over their faces. The sight of Onyx returning alive was a good omen.  
The sound from the other side of the door was not.  
“Sable?” the Grand Night’s voice shook, like two mountains rubbing together.  
Sable’s reply was imperceptible next to his master’s voice.  
“I noticed you didn’t sign my daughter’s birthday card.”  
Any reply Sable may have given was muted, drowned out by the erupting roar from within the court, the telltale crackling of a deluge of flame, the metallic smell of evaporated blood seeping from behind the door’s frame, and the boiling of plasma beneath the feet outside.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: [WP] You are a minion of the big bad. You failed to complete a mission, but instead of killing or torturing you, your master gives you different duties, some fatherly advice, and some encouragement to do better. After all, why waste a loyal minion?


End file.
